An Honest Mistake
by Kichi
Summary: Watson accidentally drinks drug-laced tea meant for Holmes. The consequences are severe.


TITLE: An honest mistake

AUTHOR: Kichi

PAIRING: Holmes/Watson

WARNINGS: loads of angst

NOTES: so I did one where Holmes was drugged out of his mind, now it's Watson's turn, hehe.

ARCHIVE: HolmesWatson09, , and my LJ

SUMMARY: Watson accidentally drinks drug-laced tea meant for Holmes. The consequences are severe.

I sat reading my paper when Holmes walked in carrying the tea service. I glanced up for a moment and frowned.

"What are you doing, Holmes?"

"Never you mind, Watson. Only an experiment. Do not trouble yourself." He loftily replied.

"Is Mrs. Hudson unwell?"

"Why would you think that?"

"I don't believe she would willingly allow you to carry that. You tend to be a bit destructive when it comes to other people's belongings." Holmes shot me a scandalized look.

"I absolutely do not!" he sniffed and continued on to his room.

I was not in the mood for Holmes' insane experiments. I had barely made it through my day without resorting to alcohol to calm my irritation. Nearly every patent I had seen that day had been a bored housewife who had heard from their friends of a 'gorgeous, young – unmarried – doctor'. Their complaints had been nothing more severe than headaches and indigestion. I endured it and their openly appraising looks with every ounce of patience in my body, but as soon as my last appointment for the day ended I quite literally fled home.

Now the idea of contending with Holmes attempting to create chemicals intended to grow or remove hair, change eye color or what ever he was doing seemed distinctly unappealing. I had reached my limit where annoyances were concerned, at least for the day.

But I had to admit I was now curious. It is a constant failing of mine. I can never leave well enough alone where Holmes is concerned. Not only am I ever concerned for the man's well-being (especially considering all the injuries he has inflicted upon himself in the past while working in his lab, or on a case, or at the punch bowl- need I go on?) but I was genuinely curious at that point.

I rose from my chair and made my way to Holmes' door. I knocked once, loudly. I heard a crash from within and I cursed under my breath.

"Sorry, old boy! May I come in?"

"Indeed!" came the merry reply. Whatever I had startled Holmes into dropping apparently wasn't too important.

I entered the room and it was nearly pitch black (as usual), I bashed my foot into the leg of a table and cursed aloud, hopping on one foot a moment. Thankfully it was not my injured leg or I might have just fallen straight over, much to my chagrin.

"Holmes, some light, please!" I snapped and heard an irritated sigh.

"I have lit some candles. Your eyes will adjust in a moment dear fellow." Holmes replied. I found a chair and sat down, spotting the tea service. I took a cup, already poured and drank it quickly, not caring in the slightest that Holmes had poured it for himself. Truthfully, I hoped to spark Holmes' irritation as well, so I might not suffer alone. _'It is a comfort in wretchedness to have companions in woe.'_, after all. Not only that, but Holmes had an irritating habit of stealing my tea, toast, muffins, shirts, waistcoats, the list goes on. So if I drank his tea once in awhile to annoy him I could hardly be blamed. Holmes was rifling through papers and abruptly tossed them in a pile with a snort before coming to sit in a chair close by.

"How was your day, dear boy?" Holmes said conversationally as he turned to face me.

"Mm. Terrible. Annoying. Boring. Take your pick." I muttered. Holmes smiled fondly and sighed.

"Old men and bored housewives would seem to have many the same complaints." I smirked tiredly.

"At least old men don't stare at me like a piece of meat." Holmes chuckled deeply at that.

"Can you blame them, my dear boy? You _are_ simply ravishing." I had planned on saying something sarcastic in reply but instead I got up and staggered to my room. I had to go to bed, I simply _had_ to. I was suddenly overcome by exhaustion and a horrible spinning sensation.

I barely made it up the stairs in one piece. I collapsed on the bed with a groan and began to tug at my clothes. Buttons were amazingly difficult to undo and then suddenly too much effort as my muscles completely relaxed without my consent. Suddenly Holmes was kneeling above me on the bed.

"Watson! How much did you drink? Was it only one cup or did you have more?" he demanded, shaking me. His rough handling intensified the feeling of dizziness.

"One!" I gasped. "Stop!" and he immediately released me only to run shaking fingers through my hair. My stomach twisted suddenly and I took a deep breath, my eyes clenching shut. I heard his footsteps hurrying away and thundering down the stairs. I felt as if I was in the midst of the ocean, being tossed about by giant waves. My stomach felt full of writhing snakes and I feared I would be sick right then. I tried to get up, to make my way to the wash room, but my limbs refused to respond. A terrible ache began behind my eyes and seemed to grow with each beat of my heart. When I heard Holmes pounding back up the stairs I nearly wept, the sounds of his footfalls magnified and amplified. And each sound bore down on me and seemed to drive searing needles of agony through my skull. I tried to cover my ears but the slightest touch seemed to make the pain intensify.

By the time Holmes re-entered the room I could feel tears rolling down my face.

"I'm dying!" I whimpered.

"No, John, never! Do not say that!" his voice was a strangled whisper. Then he laid his hands on me and it felt as if his flesh was on fire. I writhed.

"I'm burning!" this time my voice was little more than a croak. Holmes pushed me onto my back and forced a spoonful of something dreadful into my mouth. Then he climbed off of me and the motion of the bed springing up after release from his weight almost made me vomit. He took no notice and pulled my shoulders until I was sitting upright then sat behind me, placing a large basin in my lap.

I began to tremble at the sight. I knew I had to be sick, but I also knew it would likely be one of the most painful of my life. My stomach was in knots with agonizing cramps every few seconds. It probably would not be _the_ worst, mind you, but pretty damn close. I had suffered from enteric fever several years before and the pain had been unendurable, and constant, until the fever had blotted out all rational thought. I hated vomiting. I know it seems silly to say, as I cannot think of a reason a person might enjoy it. But I truly hated it. It was painful and disgusting. And this was going to be so much worse than simply being drunk and getting sick. But the spinning made me want to be sick so _badly_.

I was afraid of the pain, afraid it would get _worse_. I clenched my teeth to bite back a sob, but it was useless. I hated it. Hated breaking down and being weak. Hated the way it made my head spin and throb. Hated the way Holmes began to quake with fear or pain behind me.

That he clutched me tighter made me feel the tiniest bit better though.

"Watson, it will be alright, but you have to bring it back up, do you understand?" I nodded weakly, tried to speak, got out a few broken syllables, and began to vomit uncontrollably.

Each gasp for air in between each vile ejection was painful and desperate. I thought I might suffocate. I fell back, gasping in Holmes' arms as he wiped my face. I moaned weakly as I heard footsteps, followed by the door opening, followed by him and Mrs. Hudson speaking. I felt him prop me up and place a glass of water to my lips which I drank greedily, only to vomit it back up almost instantly. Mrs. Hudson offered wet towels and promised to return with more. Holmes placed one across my forehead. Each breath I expelled was a whimper or a sigh. I was still in pain. Tremendous pain; and I felt as if I had lost all my strength along with the contents of my stomach. And I was terribly thirsty.

Holmes did not release me and it wasn't long before I was sweating and gasping (And not in the way that I enjoy so much). Holmes pressed his fingers to my cheek and I cried out, feeling as though my flesh had been seared by a branding iron. He maneuvered out from beneath me and to my side, shushing me as I protested.

Mrs. Hudson returned and they removed the towels from my forehead to re-wet and replace them. My throat felt like parts of it had shriveled and I began to cough weakly.

I think I fell asleep. Or I passed out. When I awoke again the sky was growing dark and I was cradled in Holmes' lap again. I must have made some distressed sound for Holmes began to murmur softly, hands caressing me gently.

"…you will feel better in the morning, my dear. Please rest and all will be well. I never meant for you to come to harm. I should have warned you, what was I thinking? I should have observed. Had I not noticed the empty cup you would be dead! And all because I wished to escape the ennui of the day!" I moaned weakly, tried to say Holmes' name. He shushed me and placed a few soft kisses to my sweaty brow. I still felt horrible. My head ached, my stomach still was cramping terribly, and I felt strangely disconnected from the world. I tried to pat his arm reassuringly, but instead clung to him with all my strength, a warbling cry escaping me. He shushed me again, patting me gently, and began to slowly rock back and forth as he pulled me closer still. I closed my eyes again.

I woke and the walls were moving, breathing. Snakes, insects, and all manner of disgusting vermin writhed up the rotting surfaces. Skeletal hands held me tight. I began to scream.

Something was holding me down as I thrashed. The bloated face of a mutilated corpse stared down at me, yelled at me, wept blood and pus and maggots upon me, and shook me with its bony hands. I begged to be released, I wept, and I screamed until my voice fled altogether. I heard it speak but could not comprehend what it said. I only knew terrible fear and terrible pain.

I felt myself wrapped in stifling heat. My eyes were clenched shut for I dared not open them. I heard words that made no sense in a voice that I knew well. But the moment I opened my eyes at his terrified pleas, I shrank away with a scream and tried to fight my way free.

My struggles were pointless, I was beyond weak. My limbs seemed made of cooked spaghetti. I pleaded with my tormentor to let me die, for I was certain then that I would not last much longer. The burning hands clutched me tighter and I felt like I might snap in half from the pressure.

"You will not die!" a frightening voice hissed in my ear. I think I might have begged for death then, but I cannot be entirely sure.

I awoke in agony. I moaned and tried to curl into a ball and several hands prevented the movement. I cried out again, pain tearing through me.

"Let me die, please.. Just let me.." I heard myself gasp again and again. And always there was a voice crying: 'No! No Watson!' and yet more hands on me that burned and hurt me.

Each gasp took incredible effort; each touch upon my person drew out the agony until I was a mindless thing, reduced to the level of animal instinct. I began to snarl and bite when I had the strength. My heart pounded in a frenzy of fear. Even behind my closed eyelids I could still see dark shapes, thin skittering legs, and slime-coated masses of flesh. I dared not open my eyes.

Then there were even more hands holding me down. I might have been having a violent fit, I could not be sure at the time. (In hindsight it was very likely, almost a guarantee.) This, understandably, sent me in to a paroxysm of terror. But I could no longer fight, I could only beg for death. The hands finally, mercifully, withdrew but I was still pinned down. I remember crying out: "I hate you, I hate you!" as I weakly fought my confinement. I heard shuddering gasps, but cannot recall who they came from. I heard breaking glass, curses, a woman's voice raised, and several men shouting. Then the only sound was my own tortured breathing. I heard footsteps shortly after, and I felt a sharp sting in my arm that made me whimper in pain and alarm, then nothing.

I woke blissfully numb. The world was a haze. I heard a man sobbing bitterly and a woman speaking softly. I blinked wearily and the world came into focus a bit more. My muscles were sore, but that was mere pastimes in comparison to the hell I had endured. I was exhausted still and faintly dizzy. My stomach still roiled sickeningly, but the pain was mercifully almost gone.

I heard another strangled sob and recalled that it had probably been what had awoken me. Turning my head to find the source of the noise was shockingly difficult. It required muscles that were overtaxed and aching, but I accomplished the feat. What I saw made my heart clench in a wholly different pain.

It was Holmes who wept. His hands pressed a large, embroidered handkerchief to his face as he shook almost convulsively. Mrs. Hudson sat beside him, an arm around his shoulders.

"Yuh-you _heard_ him. He _h-hates_ me!" she shushed him quietly, giving Holmes shoulder a squeeze. I was horrified. I had never seen him cry. I had seen him come close a mere handful of times, but never this.

Then a vague memory returned to me. I remembered screaming: "I hate you!" My heart turned to lead at the thought that I had spoken those words to him. I tried to speak, to tell him it was the furthest thing from the truth. But not a sound came out from my abused throat. I had screamed myself hoarse. To be more precise I had screamed myself mute. I couldn't even produce a tiny groan, or any type of sound whatsoever. I heard Holmes gasp raggedly and I began to move. Slowly at first, my entire body protesting, I rolled onto my side. The very effort left me gasping. But apparently I'd made just enough noise for them to notice me.

Holmes shot to his feet and fled to my side, hurriedly wiping at his face. Mrs. Hudson also rose to her feet, her expression one of relief.

"Watson, oh Watson, please, please forgive me!" he choked, tears spilling from his eyes. I tried to say: _'of course, I would forgive you anything.'_ After all he hadn't meant for me to drink that horrid brew. But all that came out was a squeak. When I could speak again we would discuss that fact that _he_ had planned to take it. Until then I began to nod frantically. "You- your voice?" he said softly. I swallowed with a grimace.

"Can I- would you mind some tea?" Mrs. Hudson ventured.

"No!" Holmes cried as he saw the undoubtedly horrified look upon my face.

"But his throat-? Perhaps some hot water with honey-?" I nodded emphatically, giving her a reassuring smile, which she gratefully returned before she swept out of the room.

"Watson." Holmes began the moment she had left the room and I was startled as I gazed at him. He looked _terrible_, like he'd been at the needle for _days_. And perhaps he had. He was not known for his capacity to handle intense emotions.

His face was red from crying. His hands shook badly as they clasped mine. He looked half-starved. His clothing was torn and stained, and he hadn't shaved since- likely before the whole chain of events. And the pain and self-loathing in his eyes was unbearable to witness. I frowned and reached up to touch his face.

He clasped my hand and pressed it to his cheek. His mouth hardened and spread into a thin line, but only for a moment. Suddenly his mouth twisted into a frown and his lower lip began to tremble. "Watson," he gasped again and I cringed when I saw two more tears escape his eyes. "I nearly killed you." It was a hushed whisper. As if saying the words aloud would make it happen. He was shaking like a leaf, and I wanted nothing more than to tell him it was all right and pull him close. But I could not speak a sound and I could barely move. "I am so, so sorry!" his words were cut off by a rough sob. He bowed his head, a shudder racing through him. I traced his jaw with my thumb in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. "This will never happen again, I promise you! I- you-" he trailed off and swallowed. Haunted, blood-shot eyes rose up to capture mine. "You could have died. Because of me. Because of my-" His voice broke and more tears spilled. It hurt to see him that way. I tried to pull my hand from his- to grab him and pull him close. He mistook it for an attempt to get away entirely and dropped my hand as if I'd burnt him. "Forgive me!" he gasped, lurching awkwardly to his feet. He stumbled a few steps away and I tried to tell him to stop and come back. I finally managed a wounded sound, for he flinched as if I'd raised a hand to strike him before turning slowly and nervously glancing at me.

I must have been quite the sight. I knew the look on my face was as near to 'forlorn puppy' (as Holmes insisted upon calling it) as I could get. And I was reaching for him, my hands opening and closing as I sought to draw him back to me. He hesitated only a moment.

"You- you do not despise me utterly?" he said, his voice soft with disbelief as he stood just out of reach. I shook my head, hands still opening and closing as I tried to touch him. "You… forgive me?" he said it like he dared not believe it. I nodded rapidly.

I did not anticipate his reaction in anyway. It seemed to break him utterly. His legs gave out at my bedside and he crashed to his knees with a wordless howl of agony. His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs and I clutched at him in vain, trying desperately to console him.

"It is far more than I deserve! I should be shot and strangled for what I've done!" I shook my head, but he did not notice, his face pressed against my thigh as he hunched over next to me. I pet his hair and rubbed his back and even managed to pull one of his hands close and cover it with kisses. Then I began to tug at his shirt and then his hair impatiently. He shuddered and slowly lifted his swollen eyes.

I beckoned him again and patted the bed beside me. I needed to lie back, the effort was costing me. I could feel myself starting to sweat again. The room spun a moment and I fell back against the pillows supporting me with a gasp.

He was lying next to me in seconds, but there was nearly a foot of space in between us that I couldn't understand. He was curled up on his side, his arms and legs close to his body as if he feared to touch me. One shaking hand reached out to gently trail down my arm. "I deserve equal pain and horror for what I've put you through." I shook my head fervently. He finally smiled, but it was so achingly forlorn. I reached for him again and he scooted close, his expression wary. "I do not deserve you or your kindness, or your capacity to forgive." He said, the wan smile gone as if it had never been. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled as hard as I could. He didn't move an inch. The disappointment on my face must have been severe, for the look of anguish in his face softened and he scooted a fraction closer. "You truly forgive me?" he breathed as if the concept were impossible.

"Wouldn't you?" I managed to rasp, and immediately regretted it as my throat began to ache. But it was well worth the pain as some of the agony finally bled from Holmes' face and he closed the space between us. With great trepidation, he pulled me close.

"Yes, I see." He said. "You never fail to amaze me, Watson. Just when I think I have you figured out, you do or say something to throw me for a loop." I wanted to smile but it seemed beyond my capacity. "Are you going to yell at me the moment you are able?" he said in a small voice a moment later. I felt my expression harden. I nodded fiercely. He swallowed audibly beside me. "I am truly sorry Watson, I-" I pinched him and he bit his lip, his eyes lowered. "Is it because I meant the drink for myself?" I turned my head to glare at him and nod once. He sighed and smiled weakly. "It is the least I deserve. But truly Watson, I was not going to drink it all at once, only a little at a time-" I pinched him again and mouthed: "Be quiet." He nodded and let his head rest upon my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. I patted the arm draped over me and closed my eyes. I felt his lips brush my cheek. "You will never know how sorry I am Watson, I've never been so afraid in my life. If you had died-" his voice cracked and I felt him tremble. I drowsily patted his arm again. He sniffled quietly and didn't raise his head again until we heard Mrs. Hudson on the stairs.

He rose from the bed and took the tea service from her with an expression of gratitude. She smiled warmly at him and patted his hand. I smiled at the sight. It warmed my heart to see them regard each other with fondness. I had often been under the impression that Mrs. Hudson only barely tolerated him. He returned to my side moments later with the honeyed water.

He pulled me up into a sitting position, fluffing up my pillows and held the cup for me. I tried to hide my wariness, but he saw it, of course. And his expression became instantly dismayed.

"Do you not trust me?" he said in a small, shaking voice. I nodded with a reassuring smile and pointed to my throat with a wince. He relaxed visibly and smiled. "It will ease the pain, I am sure. And these as well-" He said, holding out two small white pills. "They are from Doctor Vanover." I took the pills without hesitation and a sip of the honey water to wash them down. Charcoal pills… the thought made me very uneasy, as they were a remedy for many kinds of poison. But which? I knew not, but eventually Holmes _would_ tell me.

"And I promise, I will leave anything of mine in my room in the future and if I put anything extra in my tea I shall drink it immediately-" My scowl abruptly made him falter. "Watson… I cannot promise you that I will cease these activities. I do not think I am capable. And…" he bit his lip, hesitating. "I am afraid to." He admitted with a flush of shame. "I am sorry. I know you hate it. I know…" my expression made him flinch and his hands began to shake so that he almost spilled the honeyed water. One tear fell, then another. I grimaced and sighed deeply. I took his free hand in mine and held it as tight as I was able. He placed my drink on the bedside table and hurriedly wiped his face. "I am sorry, Watson." He whispered. I patted his knee with my free hand and slumped further back against the pillows. I was so tired. I did not want to argue. Nor did I wish to make him cry. It made my heart ache unbearably. He tugged at my blanket and wiped his face with it and heaved a shuddering sigh before he looked at me again. I wiped away a stray tear and shook my head, frowning. He smiled weakly. "I must confess: this whole ordeal has been not easy for me. I feel like a cad saying it considering how you were affected. But I am having… difficulty controlling my emotions." I smiled softly and brought his hand to my lips, kissing his palm. His free hand rose to cup my cheek and he pulled close and pressed his lips to mine. I pulled him as close as I was able, but it was not long before I broke away gasping, my head spinning. He eased me back onto the pillows with a sigh. "Will you drink some of this now?" he implored. I nodded weakly and he held the cup for me as I drank.

Once the cup was empty I closed my eyes. Holmes set the cup aside and curled up next to me, pulling me into his embrace. I gladly wrapped my arms around him and fell asleep.

When I awoke next the sun was shining and I felt nearly myself again. Holmes lay beside me sound asleep. In the light I could see the marks of exhaustion upon his face. I reached up to run my fingers through his hair and found that my limbs did not ache as they had previously. I extracted myself from Holmes grasp and sat up. He did not stir and I suddenly wondered how long I had been ill. Usually all I had to do was move slightly and he awoke. I wondered how long it had been since last he had slept.

I rose from the bed, a bit unsteadily, but my head was clear, and I was in no pain. I made my way to the washroom and back with no trouble. It almost seemed a miracle.

Mrs. Hudson spotted me on the way back up the stairs.

"Thank the Lord! You are feeling well?" she cried. I tried to say yes, but all that came out was a harsh croak. "Would you like some more honey water?" she asked and I nodded. "Would you care for some food as well?" I deliberated for only a moment before nodding to that as well. Until she had said something I had not realized how hungry I was. "Very good, dear. I shall bring it up immediately."

Holmes slept through breakfast, through midday, and into early evening. I had done nothing to tax myself throughout the day. Bathing, eating, and reading had been the extent of my activities. I was shocked to discover nearly three days had passed while I was out of my mind and in agony. I doubted Holmes had slept during the whole time, so I left him alone. I tried a few times to speak, but still only was able to croak and squawk so I gave up and continued to drink the hot honey water.

Around ten in the evening Holmes emerged from my room looking alarmed. I smiled when I caught his eye and his answering smile was gorgeous and immensely relieved.

"Ah, thank god! I was certain something terrible happened when I awoke and you were gone." He said as he came to sit beside me on the settee. "You are looking much better." He said, taking my hand almost shyly. "Are you ready to chastise me?" he said, his voice lowering, his cheeks flushing with shame.

"Not yet." I rasped, wincing at the sound of my voice. He cringed as well.

"I suppose it is for the best. The wait is driving me mad, which I most assuredly deserve." I reached out and pressed a finger to his lips. He quieted immediately and nodded once.

He did not say much the rest of the day and his smiles were quick and slightly nervous. I tried not to guess at his thoughts, but it was hard not to. It seemed he was expecting me to yell and scream and perhaps I would.

Indeed, perhaps it was necessary. I could still see the pain and guilt in his eyes, if I cursed and screamed maybe it would make him feel better as odd as it seemed. Not only that, I think I needed to as well. I wasn't angry for what had befallen me. He had been absolutely correct. I was angry that he'd meant to drink that vile poison himself. So we would have words, as soon as I could utter them.

The next day I could finally speak, yet Holmes was nowhere to be found. I was not worried. He would show up soon. I knew he wanted to get this argument over with. I knew that he still felt terrible, judging by the look in his eyes whenever his gaze caught mine, and the heartrending smiles he sent my way.

I was still finishing breakfast when he arrived.

"Good Morning, Watson, how are you feeling today?" he asked in an overly cheery manner.

"Come sit down." I said, my voice still holding a slight rasp. "We need to talk." I smiled grimly at the subtle wince that crossed his face. He hesitated only a moment before nodding wordlessly. I patted the settee next to me. He sat, his hands twisting nervously in his lap. He stared at his shoes like they were fascinating. I wrapped one arm around him and tugged him closer, noticing the way he tensed. "No one has told me and I did not even attempt to find out, because I wanted to hear it from you." I let that statement sink in a moment and watched Holmes chew his lower lip. "What was in the cup?" he glanced at me for only a second, his eyes pleading. I felt my expression harden. He paled a bit.

"Watson, I just-" before I could stop myself, my fingers clamped down on his arm and squeezed.

"Holmes. Do not do this. Tell me. _Now_." I demanded. His lower lip began to tremble and I felt him began to shake. I was starting to get anxious myself. If he was so afraid to tell me, it had to be something terrible. I made my grip more soothing, rubbing his arm gently. "Holmes, _please_." I fairly begged. He ducked his head a fraction lower.

"Arsenic." He whispered. I felt the blood drain from my face.

"No." I choked. I released him from nerveless fingers and felt more than saw him look at me. I could see nothing but him lying dead in a coffin.

"Watson, please don't, I'm so sorry, I'll never buy it again I swear." He began to fumble in his pockets.

"Holmes." I choked, still not looking at him. "You mustn't… Of all the- do you have any idea-"

"Please, stop." He whimpered and he began to wipe at my face with his handkerchief. I hadn't realized it, but tears had begun to spill from my eyes. I could not hear him, or see him, all I could see was him dying slowly in agony. I had seen arsenic addicts before. They become addicted after the first try. The doses start out small but the amount _must_ progressively increase. It is impossible to quit. Those that did attempt to quit went into a fatal withdrawal. Those that stayed on it died from the progressively higher doses.

It was amazing I was alive. It also explained the charcoal pills. Holmes was sobbing beside me. I turned to face him and the expression on my face apparently terrified him. He shrank away with a gasp. I lunged at him, knocking him to the floor. My bad leg screamed in agony but I cared not.

"How _dare_ you!" I shrieked. "If you _ever_ bring that garbage in this house, I will _never_ even _look_ at you again! I will never speak to you! I will move out immediately! You think I have not seen what this filth can do to a person?" I was screaming, shaking him violently. He was weeping, but doing nothing to stop me. I had to let him go before I hurt him, but I- I do not think I have ever been that angry in my life. "I refuse to watch you kill yourself! What are you thinking? How can you have so little regard for yourself, and for me?" I broke off with a sob and released him, burying my face in my hands. "How _could_ you?"

"Watson, please, I am so sorry! I swear on my life, I will never buy any or ingest any, I swear! I did not mean for you to-"

"This is not about me! This is about you as well!" I sobbed, struggling to my feet. I felt his hand on my arm and violently knocked it away. "Do not touch me! You make me sick, I cannot even look at you." I grabbed my coat, my hat, and my cane.

"Watson, please, I beg you-"

"Shut up!" I snarled as I stormed out the door, slamming it behind me. I saw Mrs. Hudson at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes wide with alarm. "Forgive me, Mrs. Hudson." I choked as I fled out the door.

I walked. I walked for hours. I walked until my leg was screaming bloody murder. Then I walked some more.

I sat in Regent's park for a while after my anger had finally cooled enough to think rationally. I could not remember a time I had felt so betrayed, so bitterly angry, and so terribly sad. Why was he doing this? Why did he need to drug himself into oblivion constantly? His seven percent solution was bad enough. The morphine was even worse. But arsenic? I had seen many a ghastly demise at the hands of arsenic. What really hurt was that Holmes had seen a good deal as well. It hurt beyond measure that he cared so little. I felt my eyes burn and struggled to my feet. I did not want to return home. But I had not even thought to take any money with me. I thought it would be nice to come home raging drunk and make a fool of myself. Perhaps then Holmes would have an inkling of how I felt. But I doubted it.

I took a hansom back to 221b and trudged up the stairs. The sitting room door was open a crack, but I walked right past and up to my room. I slammed the door shut and locked it behind me. The room was pristine as usual, thanks to Mrs. Hudson. But it felt strange to be there, like it was no longer my room. It had been a very long time since I had slept in my bed. I shrugged off my coat and undressed before I crawled under the covers. My leg ached, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart.

I awoke near dawn to find Holmes lying next to me, shaking so violently the whole bed moved. I sat up in alarm, imagining the worst, thinking he had overdosed on something in his misery.

"Watson, please." He gasped.

"What happened? What have you done?" He flinched and shook harder, burying his face in my shoulder.

"Please, I cannot bear this any more! Please you must forgive me, I am going mad!" he whimpered.

"Have you taken anything?" I hissed, a warbling cry broke from him in response.

"No! I swear it!" He lifted himself up enough to look me in the eyes. He was sober. His pupils were normal. He shook out of pain. I felt my anger slowly bleed away. "Please, Watson. I cannot take this. If you hate me I will die!"

"You will die anyway, you love your drugs more." I sighed bitterly, inching away from him.

"No!" he gasped. "Please no." he wept. I hated it. I hated seeing him like this. I wanted nothing more than to hold him close and forgive him. I thought I could forgive him _anything_. He scooted closer, pawing at me desperately.

"Holmes. How do you think I feel?" I said, my voice breaking. "I do not enjoy this any more than you, but what can I do? You almost killed me-" he moaned dejectedly. "You could have killed yourself. You think you would die if I hated you? How do you think I would fare if I returned home to find you dead?"

"I was not thinking of that. I swear to you. I never do these things to hurt you, you must believe me!"

"I know that. And that, I think, is almost as bad. You do not even consider what the consequence might be. You do not even think that what you do might affect me. It seems like you do not care for me at all some times."

"That is not true!" he gasped. "I _love_ you!" I went still. Holmes had only said so but a handful of times. Each time had melted my heart. Now I felt it break just a little more. I winced at the pain tearing through my chest and felt my eyes burn. Holmes moaned. "It is true then. I have hurt you for the last time." His voice was hollow. "I cannot say I blame you."

"Holmes…"

"I can only pray you do not utterly despise me."

"You know I do not. If I did this wouldn't hurt so much." I replied, my voice thick. He took my hand and held it tight.

"Will you not forgive me?"

"Damn it, I am trying! I am trying so hard!" I broke down then. It seemed as though the past week was nothing but a parade of agony and tears. I was exhausted by it. I wanted it to end. Truly I did. But the fear wouldn't leave me. "Holmes I am afraid! I cannot bear to watch you do this to yourself."

"I know." He whispered, clutching my hand tightly. "Forgive me. Please, Watson. Please!"

"I cannot go through this again. I cannot stop you from doing what you will. But I will not allow you to use lethal poison recreationally. It is insane! It is thoughtless and cruel! Do you understand me?" I had pulled my hands from his and gently cupped his cheeks. His eyes were wide and haunted. Tears ran unchecked down his face.

"Yes." He sobbed.

"You will not forget this, will you?" I demanded, shaking him slightly.

"No!" he wailed.

"You know I love you, do you not?"

"Yes." It was a tortured whisper.

"You know I only want what is best for you?"

"Yes." He nodded as much as he could, trapped within my grasp.

"And you know I will always forgive you, even if it hurts." I said softly. He whimpered and nodded. "Do you enjoy hurting me?" I asked quietly.

"No!" It was a strangled gasp. He clutched me tight. "God, no!"

"Then please, please do not forget this. Do not forget that I love you and care about you and cannot stand to see you hurt."

"Yes, Watson. I assure you, I will never forget this."

"Good." I sighed softly and pulled him closer still, placing my lips gently against his own. He convulsed against me, a muffled cry erupting as his arms wrapped around me. He squeezed me tight to the point of pain and began to cover me with kisses, each one wet with tears. I pushed him back and wiped at his face before he could protest. "No more tears, then." I said with a somber smile. He nodded quickly, and laid his head on my chest. I ran my fingers through his disheveled hair. I guess it's true what they say: _'You always hurt the ones you love.'_ But it does not make the love diminish in any way.

"Watson-"

"Shh... Enough talking. Close your eyes Sherlock. Sleep." He did as I asked without argument. I knew he was desperate to please me, to do anything I wished. Anything but the one thing that really mattered. But what could I do? I loved him so much it hurt. I knew he felt the same. I could only pray he wouldn't break my heart again. I knew I could only take so much.

"Watson, I _do_ love you."

"I know Holmes, I know." It was the best I could hope for, I prayed it was enough. It had to be.

The End

A/N: wow, for a one-shot that took like three weeks to write. I hope the ending is satisfactory. I was gonna have sexy times but I ended up being in the mood for angst-fest 2010. BTW- I actually did researd arsenic poisoning for this and learned that people used to use it recreationally during the Victorian era with devastating results. You literally cannot stop once you start or you will die and you must increase your dosage each time and will eventually die anyway. Kinda retarded if you ask me. I was also gonna split this up into a few chapters since this is nearly 7000 words (dang!) but no. We all love to read, don't we? more fic is better and I figured no one would mind. :D LOVE YOU GUYS! Hope you like this!


End file.
